All The Weyrs of Pern

11

"I suppose we should be grateful that there are still so many youngsters who'd prefer to be dragonriders in spite of the competition from Landing," Lessa said wryly as she looked out over the sixty-two candidates standing in the Hatching Ground.

F'lar looked down at his diminutive weyrmate and grinned. "Anyone is available for Ramoth's clutches. Groghe was almost dancing when his youngest daughter was chosen on Search."

"He'll be insufferable if she Impresses the queen," Lessa said with a chuckle. "Such a pretty child. Wonder where she got her looks."

"Lessa!" F'lar said, pretending shock. "Groghe shouldn't expect a clean sweep of the honors. After all, Benelek was elected first Master of the Technical Hall, and Groghe's got another son and a daughter doing very well in Aivas's study group."

"At least Groghe keeps his sense of proportion. Here he comes now." She pointed to Lord Groghe, who was leading the Fort Hold contingent into the Hatching Ground. His attire was almost sober in the midst of the other gaudily dressed folk. Lessa nodded approval. "And he's sensibly wearing boots," she went on as she watched the sturdy Lord Holder striding out across the hot sands while others in his party minced, lifting their feet high in an effort to cool their leather soles. "The Dance of The Hatching Ground Sands," she added, stifling a laugh.

"Come, we'd better get to our seats," F'lar said, extending his arm to her. "And see if the insoles Master Ligand's so proud of really do insulate the foot against heat, as well as the cold of between."

Lessa spared a critically admiring look at her new red boots before she took his arm. "It's the plant fiber he used for the felt that provides the insulation for either extreme."

She had a complete new outfit in a deep wine-red for this Hatching-Ramoth's thirty-fifth-especially as this clutch included a queen egg, the first in twelve seasons. The great queen rarely laid fewer than twenty eggs; this clutch, appropriately, numbered thirty-five.

The eight Weyleaders had already agreed on the necessity of the foundation of a ninth Weyr. The existing eight were completely full, with some two-year-old dragons still living in the Weyrling cavern for lack of space. While Weyrleaders were proud to be flying at strength, dragon dignity required independent quartering. Not only were there no more suitable sites in the North, but since so many people were taking up holdings in the South, it was agreed that a new Weyr should be located in the vast Southern Continent, preferably equidistant between K'van's Southern Weyr and T'gellan's Eastern. The grubs might protect the land and vegetation, but dragons were still needed to repel Thread from human habitations and beastholds. A little reshuffling among the existing Weyrs and there would be plenty of older dragonriders to balance out the young ones: dragons and riders who would appreciate quarters in the South, where the climate was kind to aging bones and the stiffness of old injuries.

Lessa experienced a flush of pride for what had been achieved over the past Turns by an ex-drudge from Ruatha Hold and the bronze Benden rider whom no one had wanted to believe. She glanced up at her mate, noticing that even more silver strands had appeared in F'lar's crisp black hair. The sun creases around his eyes had deepened, additional touches of aging, though he seemed to have lost not a jot of his vitality. Maybe they should resign Benden to the energy of younger riders, she mused. With fewer responsibilities, they could devote more time to all the splendid projects at Landing. Not that she thought she had a chance of coaxing F'lar away from Benden until he had eradicated Thread from the skies forever.

F'lessan had spent sometime explaining to her that once there was a breathable atmosphere in the cargo bay on the Yokohama, even as big a dragon as Ramoth would be able to jump between to view Pern from space. Lessa wasn't sure either of them wanted to go that far, though she was more than pleased to find her ebullient son becoming a responsible and dedicated part of the Aivas team. She was genuinely fond of the only child she had been able to bear F'lar, but she had no illusions about him.

"Gone between in thought, love?" F'lar murmured, leaning down to her, amusement in his amber eyes. "Groghe's waving at us."

Spreading her best welcoming smile on her face as she stepped off the hot sands, Lessa located the Fort Holder and acknowledged his salute. The tiers were already packed with folk who had come to see a son or daughter Impress a dragon, or merely to attend what was invariably a magnificent occasion.

"Those new insoles work," F'lar said as he handed her up the stairs.

"Hmmm, don't they?" Then she noticed Larad and Asgenar with their wives and their older children on the second tier and waved cheerfully to them. Master Bendarek was on the same row as they were, but deep in a private dialogue with the recently appointed Masterprinter Tagetarl, he didn't see her.

She surveyed the ranks behind her, looking for Master Robinton and D'ram, a pair who rarely missed an Impression. Her eye picked them out easily, resplendent as they were in their Gather finery. Becoming so involved with the Aivas project had given them both, and Lytol, stimulation and new purpose. Why was it that these older men thrived on the challenge, while others, like Sangel, Norist, Corman, Nessel, and Begamon, rejected all that the new information provided Pern? No, not new: retrieved information. And just at the time of a Pass, when everyone needed such an infusion of hope.

Absently she responded to several other salutes before taking her place in the first tier.

It's almost time, Ramoth told her driver, swinging her head possessively over the queen egg.

Now don't scare the girls, dear.

Ramoth's eyes glittered in a rainbow gamut as she looked straight at her rider. If they scare, they're not worthy of my daughter.

You liked them well enough yesterday.

Today it is diferent.

Yes, Lessa agreed affably, versed in her dragon's whimsies. Today your daughter Impresses.

The humming had already begun as the massed dragons of Benden chanted their welcome. Feeling the sound vibrating through her bones, Lessa turned to smile softly at F'lar, who smiled back and took her right hand in his. This moving overture had become a special moment for them, an affirmation of their own love and a rededication to their own dragons.

An abrupt hush rippled down the tiers as the audience became aware of the distinctive sounds. Fire-lizards darted in to seek roosts on the topmost ridges, and though Ramoth followed their progress with her brilliant eyes, she no longer bellowed a warning if the creatures entered the Hatching Ground. After Lessa had heard Aivas's account of the fire-lizards' reception of their huge cousins at the first Hatching, she had told Ramoth, and both of them had felt more charitable since.

Some of the eggs in the main group were rocking slightly, and the fifty-seven boys closed in about them, hope and eagerness mirrored on their clean, shining faces. The five girls moved slowly but resolutely toward Ramoth, whose immense form covered the mottled queen egg.

Move back, dear, Lessa said gently.

Not quite growling, Ramoth took one backward step, flicking her tongue over her egg.

Ramoth!

"Up to her usual tricks?" F'lar asked.

"Hmmm." Two more steps, please, dear, and do keep your tongue in your head. Such an undignified posture. Lessa spoke firmly, and though Ramoth swung her head in a last show of reluctance, she did move back-five steps, deliberately more than requested-before she crouched down, glaring with orange-red flashing eyes.

Then Lessa cast an appraising glance over the five young women confronting the queen egg. Groghe's daughter, barely fifteen Turns old, was the smallest, a daintily made child. She had already Impressed two bronze fire-lizards, and Lessa hoped that they would contain themselves until after Impression was over. Ramoth might tolerate the creatures in the Hatching Ground, but not flying about her head. Still, Nataly had been sensibly raised, and her two fire-lizards had behaved themselves admirably since arriving at Benden.

Breda, the wraithlike blonde, came from Crom. Odd that Nessel did not object to Search, for all he opposed the Weyrs' energetic support of Aivas. She was very quiet, a journeyman weaver and, at twenty-two, the oldest candidate.

Cona was Neratian, and Manora had reported that in the sevenday that the girl had been at Benden Weyr, she had already been in the weyrs of three bronze riders. That was not a bad trait in a queen's rider; it was certainly preferable to a lack of sensuality.

Why the dragons had chosen Silga was a bit of a puzzle, for the girl had been terrified by her first flight between, and that was not a good omen.

The final girl, Tumara, was a cousin of Sharra's and so delighted to leave the isolated fisher's island off the Istan coast that Manora had commented the girl was wearing her out in her efforts to be useful.

Compliancy was a good trait, but too much became subservience, and that was not one of the more desirable qualities. A Weyrwoman had to be firm, fair, and sympathetic with her queen. Not that this pairing was certain to become senior in any Weyr.

Much had to be done, besides finding a suitable place for the new Weyr. Then, whichever junior queen-in whatever Weyrnext rose to mate would be flown by all unattached bronzes. The triumphant pair would be temporary Weyrleaders only until they had proved themselves. As fully three-quarters of the other queens on Pern were likely to come into season over the next few months, this was as fair a method as any to determine the leadership of the new Weyr.

The humming had increased to a frantic pitch. The first egg. Lessa breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a bronze head and wing emerge-had split cleanly, and the hatchling was up and out. A fine strong bronze, unsteady on its feet, of course, but able to extend its wet wings and swivel its head to and fro, trying to focus its bleary eyes on the figures before it.

With a shriek of triumph, it made a tremendous leap and landed in front of a stocky lad-from a Smithhall in Igen, if she recalled accurately. Sometimes the eager young faces seemed to blend into memories of all the candidates from the many Impressions held in this Hatching Ground over the past twenty three Turns she had been Weyrwoman. Holding her breath, she watched that magical moment when the boy realized that the dragon had chosen him: ecstasy wreathed his face as he knelt to caress the imperious creature butting at him. Tears of joy streamed down his cheeks as he threw his arms about the damp bronze neck.

"Oh, Braneth, you are the most beautiful bronze in all the world! "

The audience let out a cheer and applauded while the dragons interrupted their hum to bugle a welcome.

After the initial Impression, other eggs cracked or split or crumbled to tip their inhabitants onto the warm sands, and brown, blue, and green dragonets were matched with compatible personalities.

"Good, twelve bronzes," F'lar said, keeping track of the pairings. "We could do with more browns-only four-but the distribution of blues and greens is exactly right."

Lessa had not been paying that much attention past the first three, for the queen egg was beginning to rock. Tentatively at first, and then with considerable energy. No cracks showed on the shell yet, a fact that was beginning to worry Lessa. Usually the queens were impetuous in their arrivals. Then the tip of the nose broke through, both wing claws appeared, and-as if the little queen had given a tremendous shrug-the shell parted vertically and she stood there, framed by the casing, looking about with great dignity.

"Oh, she's a darling, that one," F'lar murmured to Lessa. "Just look at her, queen of all she surveys."

With the unusual suppleness of a hatchling, the little queen tilted her head backward almost to her spine and gave Ramoth one long look before she swung her head forward again to regard the five girls facing her. Daintily, she stepped away from her shell. With a calm arrogance she swept her coruscating glance once more over those awaiting her decision. Lessa wondered if any of the girls were actually breathing at that crucial moment.

"I'll wager you a mark on Cona," F'lar said.

Lessa shook her head. "You'll lose. It's Nataly. The two are perfectly matched."

However, the little queen was quite an individual. She stalked to one end of the semicircle of girls, giving each a close scrutiny as she passed. She never even made it to Cona and Nataly-she paused at Breda, extending her neck and pushing her head very gently against the tall girl's body.

"That," F'lar said with a snap of his fingers, "for our choices."

Lessa chuckled. "The dragon always knows." Then she gave a little gasp. As Breda knelt to clasp the little queen's head to her breast, her rather plain face had taken on a beatific glow that transformed her into a radiant beauty.

Eyes luminous, Breda looked up at Lessa. "She says her name is Amaranth!"

"Well done, Breda. Felicitations!" Lessa called, having to shout above the applause that greeted the queen's Impression. Are you satisfied? she asked Ramoth, who was staring dourly at the pairing.

The girl wouldn't have been Searched if she wasn't suitable. We'll see how she copes with Amaranth. This one is a true daughter to me. From his high perch, Mnementh added a stunning triple-noted bugle. Ramoth craned her head up at him, her eyes dazzling with pulsating color. You flew me well.

F'lar grinned at Lessa, for they had both heard the remark. "We'd better get on with our day's duties, love," he said, using that excuse to put an arm about Lessa's slender waist and guide her down the stairs and out onto the Hatching Ground sands.

In an unusual display of maternal approval, Ramoth followed Lessa and F'lar as the Weyrleaders helped Breda escort Amaranth out of the immense cavern.

"Never for a moment did I think I'd be chosen, Weyrwoman Lessa," Breda said. "I've never been out of Crom, not even to a Gather."

"Did your family come?"

"No, Weyrwoman Lessa, my parents are dead. The Hall raised me."

In an uncharacteristic gesture, Lessa laid her hand on Breda's arm. "And you are to call me Lessa, my dear. We are both queen riders."

Breda's eyes widened.

"Who knows, my dear?" F'lar said, half joking. "You may be a Weyrwoman, too, one day soon."

Astonished, the girl stopped in her tracks. Amaranth pushed at her, urgently creeling her hunger.

Lessa tightened her hand on Breda's arm and led her briskly to meet the weyrfolk bearing huge bowls heaped with herdbeast flesh. "It is a possibility, you know. But first, we'll show you how to feed Amaranth. Don't let her bleating bother you. They always think they're starving after they've hatched."

Breda needed little instruction in feeding Amaranth, settling to the task with such ease that Lessa thought the girl had probably had to feed youngsters in the Hall that had raised her. Life in the Weyr was going to be quite different: Breda had just acquired a huge family.

Then Lessa turned to discharge the less enjoyable task of an Impression day: comforting the unsuccessful candidates. F'lar had already begun that process among the young men and boys. When Lessa looked about her for Nataly and Lord Groghe, she found them in a family knot at one of the tables. Manora was there before her, serving wine, klah, and fruit juices. Nataly was struggling to hide her disappointment and managing nobly, Lessa decided. Better than Silga and Tamara, who were in tears, with their families not really knowing what to say to console them. Cona was nowhere to be seen. Lessa wondered who had spirited her away, but decided that the girl's preferred kind of consolation might mend matters more effectively than any other available method.

She paused long enough to speak to Nataly and Lord Groghe and then moved on to help assuage the disappointment of Silga and Tamara.

The harpers had started to play, and although there were some long faces among the visitors, the music would soon brighten them. Weyrfolk were already busy pouring from wine sacks and serving enormous platters of the pit-roasted herdbeasts and wherries. Food was so often a sovereign remedy, Lessa reflected.

Finally, once the sated hatchlings were asleep on their pallets in the barracks, the Weyrlingmaster permitted the new dragonriders to join their families. With the honored guests present, the festivities went into full swing.

"A most positive young queen, hmmm?" Robinton said, sliding into an empty space beside Lessa. He raised his cup in a toast to F'lar, opposite her. "Made rather an entrance, didn't she?"

Lessa smiled and offered to fill Robinton's glass from the skin of Benden white that hung on her chair.

"Is Amaranth why F'lessan's been so interested in the vacant stakeholds in the South?" Robinton delivered his query in the guileless fashion that told Lessa and F'lar that he guessed a new Weyr was required.

F'lar gave a knowing snort. "He offered."

"He's more in Landing than he is here," Lessa added wryly. With three sons by as many weyrgirls, F'lessan had need to be absent from their entreaties. He had provided well for each of his children, but he was no more ready to settle down with one than any young, handsome, and popular bronze rider. Manora had even suggested that the absence of that young charmer for a while might result in one or more of the girls settling for an older rider in a more stable, lasting attachment.

Robinton cocked an eyebrow, suggesting to Lessa that he already knew about the demands on F'lessan. "He's an excellent choice of explorer. Is a Weyr situation the only thing he's to investigate? "

F'lar picked up on that. "Why? Is Toric restless again?"

Robinton took a judicious sip from his cup. "Not really. Now that Denol's tenure of the Big Island has been settled, Toric's making up for lost time with Aivas."

"And?" F'lar prompted.

"He hid his chagrin rather well when he discovered just how mmm... less than vast the Southern Continent actually is. Fortunately he's decided that Southern must have Halls of both new Crafts. I believe that he and Hamian had rather a vociferous confrontation over the filler plant Hamian's been developing as an insulating material."

"The fibrous stuff that Bendarek's been going on about?" Lessa asked. "You know that he's genuinely concerned about the amount of trees that are needed to supply the demand for paper."

"Indeed." Robinton nodded vigorously. "I do see his point that a weed that grows rampant in Southern should be utilized instead of chopping down those magnificent forests of his."

"I thought that Sharra discovered the plant and recognized its usefulness," Lessa added.

"I believe that's Toric's contention," Robinton replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "That she found it on his holding while on a sweep for him."

"Will the man never be satisfied?" Lessa demanded with some heat.

"I doubt it," Robinton replied equably.

"Will we end up having to fight him for holdings in the South?" Lessa went on, shooting him a fierce glance for his casual manner.

"My dear Lessa, no one, absolutely no one, is going to challenge a man, or a woman, mounted a-dragon! And let us devoutly hope that there never is a point at which that is even remotely possible."

"Southern Weyr?" F'lar reminded the Harper severely.

"Well, yes, now, but that was not aggression-it was abduction." Robinton had good cause to remember the time Ramoth's egg had disappeared from the Hatching Ground and how very near Benden dragons had come to fighting the Oldtimer Southern dragons. Not wishing to remind the Weyrleaders that they had ostracized him at that point in time, Robinton held up his glass, looking plaintively at the wineskin hanging on Lessa's chair. She filled it for him. "Mind you, I think you're wise to send F'lessan to explore the tantalizing potential of Southern. When is he going?"

Lessa grinned, lifting her eyebrows expressively. "He should be there even as we speak."

The great plains rolled on below F'lessan and Golanth as the big bronze glided on a south-southwest path, aided by high thermals. A slight twinge of guilt marred F'lessan's happy contemplation of the scenery. He really should have been working up those equations for Aivas, who was under the impression that the young bronze rider's presence was required at the Benden Hatching. As F'lessan had no wish to have to explain to Nera, Faselly, and Brinna why he couldn't choose among them, he was glad enough to spend a free day obeying the injunction of F'lar and Lessa.

Golanth was so thoroughly enjoying himself that F'lessan decided it was unsuitable to belabor himself with unnecessary remorse. He had been unusually diligent in his studies-even enjoyed them. In truth, as F'lessan looked back over the past two Turns, he realized that he had devoted more time to Aivas than to the Weyr-save for Threadfall. He often flew as Wingsecond with T'gellan and the Eastern Weyr and with K'van in Southern. He liked fighting Thread, and he and Golanth were exceedingly deft at escaping injury.

One thing he hadn't dared to ask Lessa and F'lar: If he found a suitable site for another Weyr, was he in line to be Weyrleader? He dismissed that notion almost instantly. F'lessan had few illusions about himself. He was a good Wingleader, he understood draconic abilities, he knew which were the best riders in every Weyr and who were the most likely weyrlings in Benden, but he didn't think he was anyone's immediate choice for the next Weyrleader. And he was well aware of how such matters were decided: open mating flight for all unattached bronzes.

I'm big and strong, Golanth informed him with just a hint of boasting in his tone. I'd've caught Lamanth that time, if Litorth had not done that clip-and-run dive maneuver. He'd been practicing with the greens! he added petulantly.

F'lessan soothed his dragon with hand and voice. He had been a bit provoked about that himself. Of course, Celina was nearly as old as Lessa, but it was becoming a matter of honor for Golanth to fly a queen, and Celina was a nice sort. Anyone could get along with her.

A dust cloud caught F'lessan's attention, and he asked Golanth to veer toward it.

I'm not hungry just now, Golanth replied as they got near enough to distinguish the rumps of fleeing herdbeasts.

Get in a little closer, would you, Golanth? I've never seen any like these. Brown and white, and black and white. Big beasts. Nice and juicy, F'lessan added coaxingly.

If they are big now, they will be bigger when I am ready to eat.

F'lessan chuckled. There were times when Golanth couldn't be diverted. He glanced at the dial strapped to his arm, checking the time it registered against his reading of the sun. Accurate enough. Aivas called it a watch-and the first time F'lessan had worn it he had indeed watched, mesmerized, as the long second hand made its way around the dial. Jancis had presented it to him on his birthing day. She had designed and executed the device for him personally. F'lessan had felt both honored and elated to be the proud possessor of one of the few wristwatches on Pern. Jancis had only made six: Piemur, of course, wore one; so did Lord Larad and Lady Jissamy; Master Robinton and Master Fandarel were the other lucky recipients.

He and Golanth had been a-wing for the past five hours. If they didn't sight their objective soon, he was going to ask Golanth to land so that he could eat his lunch and stretch his legs. A six-hour stint during a Fall was one thing-then he was actively involved, too busy to become uncomfortable. Flying straight to a new location was a different matter altogether, always tedious. But it was necessary when one's destination was unfamiliar, unless one had been given a detailed description or could grab an image of the site from another dragon or rider's mind-which was not the case today. Golanth was making good time, catching the thermals and air currents to increase his speed, but it was a weary way to go.

Still and all, F'lessan enjoyed being first at something. He was not by nature an envious sort, but it did seem that Piemur and Jaxom had the larger portion of luck with their discoveries. He was very pleased that Lessa and F'lar had entrusted this search to him. They could have sent one of the older bronze riders, or F'nor. Nevertheless, it was F'lessan and Golanth who were winging over the great plains, toward the huge inland sea that the settlers had named Caspian, to a Hold called Xanadu.

Suddenly, off to his right, the sun dazzled him, reflecting off water.

To our right, Golly, F'lessan said excitedly.

A very big water, Golanth added.

As he often had, F'lessan wondered if he would see clearer, better, farther if he had faceted dragon eyes.

I can see anything you wish for you, Golanth replied meekly.

F'lessan pummeled his neck affectionately. I know, big fellow, and I'm always grateful for your help. I was just thinking what it might be like, that's all.

Golanth began to stroke the air, beating upward. Thermal, he said cryptically, and F'lessan leaned down against the great bronze neck so as not to impede the ascent. He felt the alteration in the wind current and let out a triumphant yodel when Golanth flattened out and set his wings to glide on the hot air.

And that's something else you can do which I can't-tell where the air currents are. How ever do you know where the thermals are?

My eyes see the variation of air, I smell the difference, and my hide feels the altered pressure.

Really? F'lessan was impressed with the explanation. Been listening in on my aerodynamics lessons with Aivas?

Golanth thought that over. Yes. You listen to him, so I thought I should. Ruth does, and Path certainly. Ramoth and Mnementh don't. They prefer to sleep in the sun while Lessa and F'lar are here. Bigath listens, and Sulath and Beerth. Clarinath occasionally, but Pranith always and Lioth whenever his rider's down. Sometimes the listening is very interesting. Sometimes it's not.

Not only was that an unusually long speech for Golanth, but it gave F'lessan such food for thought that he was kept occupied with the ramifications until the edge of the vast inland sea became visible.

How are the air currents, Golanth? Shall we cross it, or fly around?

We cross it, was the immediate and confident answer.

We need a nor'norwest heading, Golanth, to reach the point where the ancients settled. Not that I think we'll find much.

As they crossed the water, passing through several squalls on the way, they noted all the little islands and the strange pinnacles of rock upthrusts, like bony fingers or clenched fists. On some, odd-shaped trees had managed to find soil enough in the rock crevices to support their roots. In two instances, naked roots twisted down the spires, seeking additional dirt and sustenance. The trees, with their closely packed heads, leaned precariously away from the prevailing winds. Or were those branches that were seeking the summits and sunlight? Sharra would want to know about these. She liked such oddities.

The western coastline was visible at last, a high palisade of cliff. The inland sea must have been formed in a vast subsidence, F'lessan decided, recognizing the geological formation from Aivas's survey lectures. That would also account for the spires and islands: the tops of sunken mountains. Now if those distant cliff faces also held caves, this would be a splendid place for a Weyr, he thought. All that water! One would never have a dry dragon in one's weyr.

He was to be disappointed, however, once they got close enough to see the solid granite composition of the high bluffs.

Dragons don't have cliff weyrs in Southern or Eastern and they don't complain, Golanth said helpfully.

I know, but I was asked to find a useful old crater or two.

The sun will find me in a clearing, and there are some very good-smelling trees on this continent.

F'lessan thumped Golanth, grinning at the bronze's effort to console him for the disappointment. This isn't the only place I'm supposed to check out. There was a settler's hold, called Honshu, in the foothills of the Southern barrier range. However, since we're here, let's look about for this Xanadu Stakehold.

Golanth's sharp eyes spotted unnatural outlines on a slight prominence, not far from where a wide river had worn a deep gorge from the outer sea to the inner one. F'lessan wasn't sure about ruins, but he had to accept that wide steps had been cut in the palisade face. Someone had wanted an easy access to the lakeshore. Golanth landed neatly beside his alleged ruins. Looking around, F'lessan at first thought the dragon had been mistaken in seeing any shape whatsoever beneath the heavy vegetation.

This is not natural, Golanth insisted, tapping a vertical thicket of twisted vines and moss. Extending his wing, he hooked a wingfinger claw on a twisted branch and pulled away the obscuring greenery. As myriad creatures scuttled away from exposure to the sun, F'lessan found himself looking at a tall chimney of worked stone. So the rest of the ruin had to be the remains of the walls of a dwelling.

F'lessan shook his head for those foolish enough to build with so much vegetation all around them, making them twice as vulnerable to Thread. Taking a meatroll from his pouch, he ate as he walked around the hold walls, using his belt knife to scrape down to long-hidden dressed stone. It would have been a large dwelling. Golanth had shouldered his way into the thick forest and was calling his rider to inspect more ruins.

"Sizable place all right enough," F'lessan said, kicking at some rubble. "Xanadu, huh!" He turned back to the main building, snagging a ripe redfruit from a hanging limb as he walked. Chewing the juicy fruit, he contemplated the prospect of sea and distant shore that the original inhabitants must surely have enjoyed. Magnificent! If there hadn't been Thread to worry about, it would have been an endlessly beautiful vista. "We've another place to investigate, Golanth," he said abruptly, throwing off a sense of regret on behalf of those long-dead holders.

He asked Golanth to wheel over the site so that he could imprint the details in his mind for future visits. If-no, F'lessan corrected himself defiantly, when Pernese skies were Threadfree, this would be an admirable situation for an open-air weyr.

Golanth caught an updraft that put them quickly back into the westerly current. They had a long way still to go. Shielding his eyes, F'lessan glanced at the lowering sun and then, berating himself for his forgetfulness, looked at his wristwatch. Four more hours until dusk. Not that flying at night bothered Golanth, nor would it be the first night F'lessan had curled up in a bed made by his dragon's forepaws, but if they didn't hurry, F'lessan wouldn't see what he had flown all this way to lay his eyes on.

They flew onward, Golanth's wings tirelessly carrying them, until the great Southern barrier range developed from a pale lavender smudge to vast purplish blue massifs, dominating the horizon.

Bi-i-ig– F'lessan drawled the adjective-mountains! Higher than anything we have in the North until you reach the Icy Wastes.

The air would be very thin up there, Golanth observed. Will we have to cross them?

I don't think so. F'lessan rummaged in his jacket pocket for the map Aivas had printed out for him. It flapped so badly in the wind of their passage that he had trouble reading it. No, this Honshu holding is in ,the foothills below the real range. We're just not close enough to distinguish them.

The last of the brilliant sunset illuminated the general area of their destination. Only because sharp-eyed Golanth saw a line of herdbeasts ambling through a wide doorway in the foot of the cliff did they locate Honshu.

Are you sure you saw what you said you saw? F'lessan asked in surprise. Surely they would have taken their beasts with them when they left.

Maybe wild ones found the way into a place of safety, Golanth suggested. Speeding up his wing strokes, he reached the foot of the sheer cliff just as the last of sunset drained from western skies.

There was no mistaking the wide track worn smooth by usage that led to the cliff face and through a wide entrance angled into the cliff. Peering inside, F'lessan coughed at the stench of the place. High in the walls, window slits did not give him light enough to see much-and the smell alone was enough to discourage investigation. The herdbeasts bawled in surprise at his entrance and milled anxiously deeper into what he guessed was an immense cavern. Choking and with eyes streaming from the intense ammoniac smell, F'lessan backed out. Leaning against the cliff, he breathed deeply of the fresh evening air.

"Looks like you found me Honshu, Golanth," he said, running his hand up the beasthold entrance. "This was cut as neatly as a hot knife in cheese. Just like Fort Hold and the Weyr-when the ancients still had power for their stonecutters. So this has to be Honshu." His fingers also located a door, neatly retracted into the wall. "They left the door wide open, after all. Well, Golanth, let's find us a place to camp for the night. A fire would be right cheerful on a black night like this. I don't know if those big felines Sharra and Piemur talked about range this far south, but..."

No feline would challenge me!

"Not one who wishes to see tomorrow," F'lessan said with a laugh as he peered into the dark for someplace to settle down.

Follow me, Golanth said, and ambled to the left of the cliff face.

"You're better than a torch." F'lessan followed, taking care not to tread on his dragon's tail.

Dead wood was easy enough to find, and rocks to contain a fire, so very shortly F'lessan was comfortably settled against Golanth's shoulder, munching on his travel rations and sipping some Benden wine he had talked Manora into putting in his bottle. Then, because there was little else to do, F'lessan unrolled the fur that padded Golanth's neck ridge, nestled himself snugly between Golanth's forelimbs, and went to sleep.

He woke up just as the eastern skies were brightening. Enough embers remained from his fire to be coaxed back into sufficient warmth to allow him to heat his morning klah and break his fast with a warm meatroll. Golanth ambled down to the river and drank deeply.

This will be a good place to swim-once the sun is up, he said with the air of an expert. And the cliff a good place to warm after a swim. The sun will catch the stone and radiate heat.

F'lessan grinned as he sipped his hot klah. You have been learning a thing or two from listening.

Only the things that make sense to me.

Then F'lessan heard the low bleating and moaning of the animals sheltering in the hold.

Stay there, Golanth, or the animals won't come out, and I want to investigate this place.

I don't mind if I do, Golanth replied equably, but they have nothing to fear for I am not hungry yet.

Somehow I doubt they'd believe you, dear heart. F'lessan made a second cup of klah and then kicked dirt and gravel over his little fire lest the smell of burning wood alarm the beasts.

He did not have long to wait. Once the sunlight hit the entrance, the animals-which proved to be of more than one species of herdbeast-began to file out, ready for a day's browsing or grazing. Most of those had younglings at foot. Not stirring a muscle, F'lessan watched the exodus. Only when all had made their way down the track, spreading out on their separate ways, did the bronze rider approach the opening.

"Faugh!" The reek still discouraged F'lessan from entering-the dung had accumulated to the level of mid-thigh in some places. Holding his breath, he stuck his head in. The cavern was huge, as far as he could tell in the patches of early-morning light that filtered in through the high windows. It was then that he noticed a flight of steps to his right.

Golanth! I'm going in. There're steps here. Drawing his collar across his nose and mouth, F'lessan darted toward the steps and ran up to the first landing, where he stopped. There, to his right, was a large door that had once been secured by a lock, now a rusted shell that fell into dust at his touch. He pushed open the door and stood on another landing, from which steps led down to a large, high-ceilinged room. Window slits let in barely enough light to make out a bulky object, half a dragon length in size, which appeared to be covered.

I've found some sort of an ancient artifact! he told Golanth as he took the steps two at a time in his excitement.

The covering was of ancient manufacture, soapy and slick to the touch once he brushed aside the film of dust that had turned a bright green fabric to gray. Flipping a corner up, F'lessan peered at the unmistakable prow of a vehicle. Struggling to uncover more of the incredible object, F'lessan recognized it from some of the tapes Aivas had shown them as a sled, one of the larger sort.

Just wait till Master Fandarel and Benelek see this thing, Golanth! They'll go spare! F'lessan crowed with delight and anticipation at the stir this beauty would cause. He rolled more of the cover back, noticing how carefully the craft had been stored by its owners and wondering why they had left it behind. No more fuel to fly it, probably.

It's a cumbersome-looking thing, Golanth remarked.

Don't worry, love, I d never trade you in for one of these. Cranky things from what the records tell us. Always needing to be serviced and have parts replaced. Don't have that worry with a dragon. F'lessan laughed heartily at the thought of the Smithcrafters swarming over the sled-for all the good it would do them. Still, it was quite a relic to find lovingly stored away. So few of the settlers' everyday implements had been discovered. Then he noticed the racks of dust-shrouded tools on the wall, a pile of empty plastic sacks such as the settlers had used to store all manner of items, and, under layers of fine dust, plastic containers in the settlers' favorite bright colors.

Well, when I tell Aivas what we've found, he won't be so upset, F'lessan added. So I d better survey the whole place for a complete report. Aivas respects complete reports.

Then he bounded up the steps to the landing and proceeded on upward. He noticed that there were piles of dung on some of the steps and muddy hoof marks that, fortunately, ended at another closed door.

This one slid back into the wall-not without some grunting and shoving on F'lessan's part. Having achieved a wide-enough gap to squeeze through, he stepped onto yet another landing, with stairs leading down to a huge cavern-a workroom, to judge by the variety of tables and cabinets. Slightly amazed, he identified both a forge and a huge kiln, as well as workbenches. And there he saw his first signs of a hurried departure, for some cabinet drawers were half out of their slides and there were odd cartons, not quite lidded shut, on three work surfaces. He didn't go down to investigate further, for yet another flight of stairs led up to a higher level.

I'm moving up in the world, Golanth, with more marvels to report to Aivas. Oooowhee, but this place is a treasure trove. The people may have left, but for once they didn't take much with them. Robinton and Lytol are going to be fascinated!

Golanth's response was a deep grunt that echoed in F'lessan's ears; laughing at his dragon's lack of enthusiasm, the bronze rider galloped eagerly up the steps.

Nor was F'lessan disappointed. The door on this level opened onto what had to be the main entry to the hold. Through a graceful archway, he could see into what must have been the central living area. For the first time, he felt like an intruder as he stepped into the immense room, and he stopped in the doorway. He heard the slither of tunnel snakes, retreating from his presence. Peering into the room, he could distinguish little beyond shrouded forms in the darkness, but he could see the thin lines of light around window apertures.

Retracing his steps to the hall, he threw open the wide double leaves of the main door, blinking at the brilliance of the early-morning sun. The hold faced northeast, as a southern hold should, and an early breeze ruffled the thick cushion of dust on the floor. With that light to help him, he found the windows, which were set far above his head; he also found the long pole that opened them. He had opened five of the ten large windows before his eyes fell on the space above them.

Golanth! You should see this! It's amazing!

See what? Where are you now? Is there room for me?

"I-th-think so." F'lessan heard his own stammer echo back from the vaulted ceiling, a ceiling that had been decorated in brilliantly colored murals that had lost nothing of their brightness. And he now knew part of the story they depicted. "This ought to shut up the doubters-an independent verification of what Aivas told us!" he murmured, more to himself than to Golanth, as he gave the walls a fleeting glance before beginning a more studied perusal. So involved did he become with the mural scenes that it took him a moment to realize that the scrabbling noise he heard was Golanth's claws on stone.

This door is not wide enough for me, Golanth said, sounding distinctly annoyed. F'lessan glanced around and stifled a guffaw. Golanth had got head and neck through the opening, but not his massive shoulders.

"You're not stuck, are you?" the bronze rider asked solicitously.

They could have made the door a little bit higher and wider, since they made it as big us they did.

"I don't really think they had dragons of your size in mind when they built it, Golanth. But can you see the murals? There's even a scene about dragons-right overhead. Oh, you can't quite see it, but these murals are amazing. There are panels for every major event-" F'lessan pointed out the appropriate panels as he explained. "The actual landing in the shuttle craft; the ones in Ship Meadow; and yes, there are sleds just like the one down below; and the building of holds, and people working the land, and then Thread. They did that panel too graphically. Turns my stomach just to look at it. They've got lots of sleds, and smaller craft, and flamethrowers and-ah, high up in the ceiling, they've even got Rukbat and all its planets. If only we'd found this place a long time ago..." F'lessan was silent a long moment, his eyes moving from one beautifully painted panel to the next. "They'll all want to see this place," he said at length with infinite satisfaction. "We did good, Golanth, dear heart. And we were first here!"

He looked around one last time, deciding not to investigate further so that others might have the pleasure of seeing the place as it had been left. Then he carefully closed the windows.

Golanth, crammed into the doorway, had been trying to see what he could. As F'lessan approached him, he carefully backed out onto the broad shelf that jutted out from that level. F'lessan closed the doors behind him, marveling at the workmanship that allowed the heavy metal to pivot so easily after so many centuries of disuse. He gazed up at the sweep of the hold: three more levels of windows were visible.

"Neither weyr nor hold but it would serve," F'lessan said, remembering the point of his search. "That is, once the artifacters and Craftmasters get their look-in."

Dragons would find this spot eminently suitable, F'lessan, Golanth assured him. There is the river, which is deep, clear, and tasty to drink, and there are many ledges that face the sun all the day long. The bronze dragon swung his head to left and right to bring those places to F'lessan's notice. This would make a very good Weyr indeed.

"And so we shall report."